


Secondhand Heroics

by MermaidMarie



Series: Earning Your Happy Ending [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 10:11:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15993059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidMarie/pseuds/MermaidMarie
Summary: In which, following the events of How To Be A Hero, Barry Allen and Oliver Queen move to Central City together, learning to cope with Ollie's retirement from the vigilante business and Barry's new role at S.T.A.R. Labs.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to my fic How To Be A Hero. If that fic was trying to follow canon relatively closely, this one has thrown canon out almost entirely. Canon? What canon?  
> Ollie and Barry are living in Central City, Ollie trying to lead a normal life after everything he's been through and Barry trying to balance maintaining a life with being the Flash, as the Rogues become more and more of an issue for the city.

              Oliver stood outside the door, staring at it intently. This was it. This was his new life. After the island, after being the Arrow, after Nanda Parbat and the League, he was going to move into a new apartment with his boyfriend and try to start over.

              _Start over._

              Just the thought of it made Oliver’s heart beat faster. The idea of starting over was simultaneously comforting and terrifying. It all made him a little queasy.

              Central City was so warm and sunny that Oliver kept having to squint to look around. It felt strange, the lack of gloom and overcast. All the colors seemed more vivid. Oliver knew he’d been there before, months ago, but that was before.

              This was how his life was categorized now: into _before_ and _after._

              This happened when Oliver came back from Lian Yu, too. His life was split into before the island and after. It was a distinct, black line, right through his memories. And it happened again, with joining the League of Assassins. Before and after.

              The _after_ section hadn’t been very long. Just a couple months. Barry and Oliver had decided to move to Central City relatively soon after everything happened.

              Oliver had been feeling more grounded lately. A little more connected with the reality around him. He’d been in such a haze since coming back from Nanda Parbat. So much felt disconnected, distant, like it was happening to someone else. Like  _Oliver Queen_ never really returned from the League. 

              But this move, this had been an active choice. It was a decision that Oliver had made. He’d made it with Barry, of course, but it was still _his._ The sense of agency, of autonomy, it was strange. After all that time that Ra’s and the League had spent trying to strip Oliver of his freedom…

              Oliver shook his head. He didn’t want to think about Ra’s. Or the League. He wanted to enjoy this. He and Barry had gotten this new apartment—this nice, big apartment in Central City, with high ceilings, an open kitchen, and a balcony. It was supposed to be exciting. It was supposed to be fun. Oliver didn’t want his memories and his lingering pain to ruin it.

              Barry came up next to him, putting a cardboard box at his feet. He took a long breath. “Here we are,” he said.

              Oliver kept his eyes on the door. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Here we are.”

\---

              _Oliver leaned against the bars of the cage, counting the seconds he was stuck there. He could feel Barry’s gaze burning into him. He could understand that there had been some complicated things between the two of them, but did he really have to_ stare _like that?_

_He clenched his jaw. So what if they said Ra’s was dead? The League still needed a leader. Wasn’t he supposed to be the heir? He needed to go back to Nanda Parbat to fulfill his promise._

_What was the difference anyway? A cage there or a cage here. He was trapped behind bars either way. He might as well go back to the place he knew, rather than this lost dreamworld._

_“Ollie?”_

_Oliver pressed his eyes shut. He couldn’t let this man get to him. Ra’s had shown him plenty of horrors in hallucinations of this man, and he had no proof that this wasn’t another test._

_It didn’t feel like another test._

_He opened his eyes. Barry’s head was tilted slightly, his eyes concerned._

_“You’ve been pretty quiet,” he stated._

_“You’ll notice that prisoners often are,” Oliver replied coldly._

_Barry sighed. “You’re not a prisoner, Ollie.”_

_Oliver met his eyes. “Then let me out.”_

_Barry broke eye contact almost immediately, his eyes falling to the floor. “This is for your own good.”_

_“Ra’s said that, too,” Oliver replied._

_Barry damn near flinched at that. “I’m sorry, I really am. I just can’t… I can’t risk… You’re not yourself right now, Oliver.”_

_“So you’ve said.” Oliver pressed against the cage, letting the bars dig into his back._

_There were a few beats of silence._

_“I guess it’s about time for lunch,” Barry said quietly. “I’ll be right back.”_

_Oliver opened his eyes, looking at the spot where Barry had just been. It felt a little lonely in the foundry without him there._

_He couldn’t help but wonder why this man was trying so hard. Oliver Queen must have been very important to him._

_Oliver took a moment to remind himself that he_ was _Oliver Queen._

\---

              Barry grabbed the last box out of the truck they’d rented. The label said _miscellaneous,_ which as it turned out, was not a helpful label. He sighed, thinking he really should’ve put more effort into organizing these boxes beforehand.

              He carried it up to the door, which they’d left unlatched. He pushed it open with his foot, leaving the box next to the door as he finally shut it behind him.

              He leaned against the door for a moment, taking everything in. They had no furniture yet, just piles of boxes that they were leaving in a cluster in the corner. There was a lot left to do, but they were _here._ Finally.

              Barry let himself bask for a moment. This was his new home. His and Oliver’s. They were going to be able to breathe, after all this time. Oliver still had good days and bad days, but Barry was optimistic. Everything seemed like it was getting better, slowly but surely.

              They were safe, and they were together. That’s what mattered.

              Oliver was sitting on the floor by the boxes, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed.

              Barry walked over slowly and took a seat beside him.

              “We’re going to need a couch,” Oliver said, not opening his eyes. “And a coffee table.”

              “We can deal with that tomorrow,” Barry replied. “I’m thinking we should order pizza. What do you think?”

              “Pizza sounds good,” Oliver said.

              “We’ll have to sleep on the floor tonight,” Barry said. He opted not to ask if Oliver would be sleeping on the couch or in the bed afterwards. “All we really have left to do today is eat and set up the sleeping bags. We can deal with everything else tomorrow.”

              Oliver opened his eyes and shot Barry a crooked smile. "I can get behind that idea."

              Barry wanted to cry, just seeing Oliver's smile. It had been so rare lately. Barry felt like it lit up the whole room. 

 ---

              _Barry woke to the sound of a crash from the living room. His eyes flew open and he sped to the other room immediately. It was only the second night of Oliver being back at their apartment. Barry’s heart pounded as he took a long second to visualize all the possible things that could’ve gone horribly, horribly wrong._

_He saw Oliver, standing near the couch, wide-eyed and shell-shocked. There was a broken lamp on the floor, like it had been thrown against the wall._

_Barry didn’t say anything. He didn’t get any closer. He just kept his eyes on Oliver, ready to move if he had to._

_Oliver closed his eyes and shook his head, like he was confused. “I’m… I’m sorry,” he said softly._

_“It’s just a lamp,” Barry said slowly. “Are you alright?”_

_Oliver let out a short sigh. “Am I alright,” he repeated flatly, like the words didn’t make sense._

_Barry clenched his jaw. Maybe that hadn’t been the right thing to say. “Was it… Was it a nightmare, or…”_

_“I don’t know…” Oliver’s voice sounded far away. “I thought I saw…”_

_Barry could see Oliver’s hands shaking. He took a tentative step forward. “Hey,” Barry said gently. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”_

_“Maybe… Maybe I wasn’t ready to come home,” Oliver murmured, sounding more like he was talking to himself than to Barry._

_“Just breathe, Ollie,” Barry replied. He walked towards Oliver slowly. “You’re safe here.”_

_Oliver put a hand up and Barry stopped moving. “Just… Don’t come any closer yet. Give me a minute.”_

_“Take as much time as you need,” Barry replied softly._

\---

“Barry,” Oliver hissed, shaking Barry’s shoulder. Barry just grunted and rolled over, muttering incoherently. “Barry!” Oliver repeated.

“I’m awake,” Barry mumbled into his pillow.

              Oliver laughed. “You so clearly aren’t. Isn’t it your first day of work today?”

              Barry opened one eye to glance at the clock. “I still have an hour.”

              Oliver sighed and shook his head. “No, Barry. Daylight savings.”

              There was about three seconds of silence before Barry shot out of bed, speed-showering and then rushing the get dressed. Oliver just stood there, bemused, as the lightning crackled around the room.

              Barry, dressed and ready, came to a grinding halt right in front of Oliver. He narrowed his eyes. “Wait a second.”

              Oliver raised an eyebrow.

              “It’s not daylight savings,” Barry said, his tone low.

              Oliver shook his head.

              “You tricked me,” Barry said, pointing accusingly at Oliver.

              Oliver grinned and shrugged. “And now you won’t be late. That’s a first, right?”

              “Dammit, Oliver, I have superspeed,” Barry said, rolling his eyes. “Now I’m an entire hour early. Couldn’t you have done this in like, forty-five minutes or something?”

              Oliver sighed, looking down at his watch. “No, because I’m about to be late to _my_ first day.” He leaned forward and tentatively kissed Barry on the cheek with an awkward smile. He turned a little stiffly to walk out.

              “Want a ride there?” Barry called after him quickly.

              Oliver waved a hand dismissively. “I’m good.”

              Barry watched him leave, bringing a hand to his cheek where Oliver’s lips had just been. _Progress._

              It really seemed like this was going to work out. Their lives could be halfway normal. Oliver could recover from all he’d been through. Barry felt the warm glow of optimism in his chest. After everything, after all they’d gone through together, after every ordeal, it could be okay.

              They could live in their little Central City apartment. They could figure out who they are together when everything isn’t falling apart. There was something so beautiful, so comforting, about the idea that Oliver and Barry could settle into a soft life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm genuinely really surprised that anyone was waiting for the sequel! Sorry it took so long, it's just that I wanted to make sure I knew what I was doing.  
> Disclaimer: I don't actually know what I'm doing. Ever.

              _Oliver was chained up in that cold, dark room back in Nanda Parbat again. When he recognized his surroundings, he was almost relieved. It was finally over. The long, painful hallucination back in Starling City. It was over._

_He had just begun to believe that his life was going to change again. He had just begun to believe that Ra’s was truly dead, that Barry really was trying to help, that he really could be safe for once in his life. But all of that was just a dream, wasn’t it? It was never going to be real._

_Here he was. Back in Nanda Parbat, with the League. Back where he belonged. They owned him now. They’d made it very clear he’d never escape. It was familiar. The pain, the torture, the abuse. Oliver understood these things. He was used to them._

_The hallucination back in Starling City, the idea that he was going to be safe there, that’s what Oliver couldn’t understand. It felt wrong. Fragile. Like it could be taken away at any moment. Now that it had been, there was a weight off Oliver’s shoulders. He didn’t have to keep waiting for the other shoe to drop._

_He took a deep breath, bringing his emotions in, getting himself under control. He could do this. This, he could handle. He knew how to be disciplined. He knew how to be cold. He knew how to forget himself._

_Oliver strained his wrists against the metal chains. That’s when he noticed something was wrong. His wrists didn’t hurt. He couldn’t feel the bite of the metal against them._

_A swell of panic rose in his chest. Where was he? This wasn’t right. He looked around the room, trying to figure out what had happened. His heart pounded. He didn’t know what was going on anymore._

_He woke with a start, leaning up quickly, gasping._

_The foundry._

_Oh._

_He backed himself into the bars of the cage, pressing into them. The bars felt cold. This was real. Something inside him felt like it was breaking into pieces._

_“Ollie?” a soft voice said. “Are you…”_

_Barry shuffled towards the bars, wiping the sleep from his eyes._

_“I don’t… I’m not…” Oliver pressed his hands into the floor. The room felt like it was spinning around him. “This isn’t right.”_

_Barry sat cross-legged right outside the cage. He frowned. “You’re in the foundry in Starling City,” he said gently. “You’ve been here a few days. You’re safe here.”_

_“I am not supposed to be here,” Oliver said emphatically. He knew it was true._

_“You belong here,” Barry said. “This is your home, Ollie.”_

_“No,” Oliver replied. “No, stop it.” This was all wrong. It was all wrong._

_“Ollie—”_

_“Shut up!” Oliver snapped._

_Barry looked a little hurt. “You’re—”_

_“I don’t want to hear it,” Oliver interrupted, his voice strained, insistent._

_“Okay,” Barry said softly. “I’m sorry.”_

_Oliver squeezed his eyes shut. Counted slowly to five. Nothing made sense anymore._

_\---_

              Oliver hadn’t felt these kinds of butterflies since his first day on high school. He wasn’t very familiar with this kind of nervousness. Mortal fear, sure. Hopelessness, absolutely. The feeling of impending doom, yeah. But not normal, human nervousness, for something as mundane and ordinary as the first day at a new job.

              He got to the coffee shop, relieved to see a friendly face at one of the tables.

              Iris leapt up, smiling. “Oliver!” she called, rushing over. “I thought I’d introduce you to my old coworkers. I get coffee here almost every morning before work anyway. Maybe you can serve it to me today.” She nudged his arm, shooting a teasing look.

              Oliver was more at a loss for words than usual. “Thank you,” he said in a sincere, low voice. It had been kind of her to think of him, anyway.

              Iris just grinned. She bounced over to the counter. “Holly, Jack, and Tanya,” she said, pointing at each of the people behind the counter. “Meet Oliver Queen.”

              “Aren’t you some kind of billionaire?” the guy she’d indicated as Jack said, looking Oliver up and down.

              “Play nice, Jack, Oliver is new in town,” Iris replied. Iris turned to Oliver, squeezing his arm. “Now why don’t you ring me up a latte?”

              “I can show you how to use the register,” Holly offered with a smile.

              Oliver smiled back, and it was almost genuine. It was, admittedly, nice to have some welcoming people waiting in this new, unfamiliar place. This was all so foreign to him. He vaguely wished that his parents had made him get a job in high school. For all of Oliver’s experiences, he was lacking in the area that covered normal human life.

\---

              “First day back on the job, huh?” Eddie said with a smile as Barry walked over to him and Joe.

              The crime scene was a mess. The jewelry store was in disarray. Half of the store had been burned, the other half had been drenched. All of the glass had been shattered, and the two employees were dead on the ground, blood drying in streams coming from their ears.

              Barry sighed, pulling on his latex gloves. “Right back into it, I guess,” he muttered to himself.

              Joe crossed his arms, frowning at the scene. “Now, Barry, I’ll wait on your report, but I have a feeling I can guess who did this.”

              “Looks like the Rogues, for sure,” Barry said.

              “Captain Cold,” Eddie said, pointing to the half of the store that was dripping wet. “The ice must’ve melted.”

              Joe gestured to the burnt carpet and the seared walls. “Heatwave,” he said.

              Barry crouched on the ground examining the glass. Like he’d expected, it looked like the glass had all shattered at once. “And Pied Piper,” he said. He moved over to the bodies. “He must’ve broken everything and killed these two with the same sound wave.”

              Eddie sighed. “I miss when Captain Cold avoided leaving a trail of bodies.”

              “He’s gotten bold,” Joe said gruffly. “He’s getting cocky. He knows we don’t have the manpower to catch him.”

              Barry felt a crackle of electricity through his veins. “Well, he doesn’t know that the Flash is back,” Barry said, half to himself. All this senseless death, it made him so _angry._ The robberies, that was less important to him. It was the fact that Snart was treating human beings like they were completely expendable.

              “Go write the report for the crime scene first,” Joe told him. “Then we can all regroup at S.T.A.R. Labs. Think of a game plan. Maybe we’ll be able to catch the Rogues at their next heist.”

              Eddie shook his head, sighing. “I can’t believe it’s come to this.”

              “You and me both,” Barry muttered. He couldn’t believe how much more dangerous Central City had gotten in the year he’d lived in Starling. His hometown, _his_ city, it was being run by a group of crazy super-powered criminals, who had been virtually unbeatable.

              He knew that he had made the right move, moving back to town. It was the best option for everyone. But Barry couldn’t help feeling frustrated, and a little exhausted—he had just gone through going up against the big villain for Starling City. He couldn’t really catch a break.

              It hadn’t been that long since they’d faced the League. And Barry was just thrown right back in the middle of another unbalanced fight, where the good guys were seriously outnumbered. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help. He _did._ He just wished there was more time between disasters in his life.

              He also, of course, worried about Oliver. How time consuming was this going to be? He didn’t want to abandon Oliver.

\---

              At S.T.A.R. Labs, things were already coming up on the radar by the time Barry got there. Cisco was typing away at the computer, bags under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in days.

              “Good, you’re here,” Cisco said. “Now you have to leave again.”

              Joe looked over at him, his arms crossed. “There’s a robbery in process at another jewelry store. Looks like Cold is going for the world record or something.”

              “The Rogues?” Barry asked.

              “Who else?” Joe replied.

              “Suit up,” Cisco said. “I’ll get you the address.”

              Barry managed to speed in, dodging the shattering glass. He pulled the employees out of the store, dropping them off on the sidewalk, before skidding to a stop in front of Snart and Rathaway.

              Snart looked completely unfazed. Hartley just looked annoyed, seeming like he wanted to sonic-blast Barry the second Snart gave the word.

              “Flash,” Snart drawled. “Fancy seeing you here.”

              Barry stood as tall as he could. “I’m not letting you get away with this,” he said.

              Hartley glanced at Snart. “Cold, can we just—”

              Snart put a hand up to quiet him. “Oh, Scarlet, I’m sure you’ll find that you’ll leave us in peace to collect these jewels.”

              Barry crossed his arms, feeling the electricity buzzing under his skin. “How do you figure?”

              Snart made a show of checking his watch. “In approximately twenty-three seconds, my associates on the other side of town have been instructed to set a hospital on fire. I believe Peek-A-Boo and Heatwave are lining the hallways with gasoline as we speak. After the fire is set, you’ll have at most ninety-six seconds to get everyone out of the hospital. This, of course, includes the people who are on life-support and need to be immediately reconnected to another power source.”

              Barry’s stomach turned. “A _hospital?_ You’re setting a _hospital_ on fire? What is _wrong_ with you?”

              Snart lowered his wrist. “Oh, don’t be so melodramatic, Scarlet. No one has to die. As long as you hurry, that is.” He smiled. “So what’ll it be?”

              Barry glared at Captain Cold, his chest tightening with anger. But he knew he couldn’t wait. He couldn’t fight these two, subduing them to get them into the pipeline at S.T.A.R. Labs. He didn’t have the time.

              He took off, towards the other side of the city.

              “Cisco, did you hear that?” he said into the comms.

              _“I’m on it,”_ Cisco replied. _“I’m finding where Heatwave and Peek-A-Boo went using the city traffic lights.”_

              “Hurry,” Barry replied. He got to the first hospital, pausing just a moment to make sure this one was safe before running off again. “I can’t just check every hospital in the city.”

              _“I’m going as fast as I can,”_ Cisco replied.

              Barry got to the next hospital. It was safe, too. He kept going.

              _“It’s the hospital on seventh avenue, near the waterline,”_ Cisco said quickly. _“It just went up in flames.”_

              Barry cursed under his breath, speeding off.

              The hospital was three stories—Barry started on the third floor, in pediatrics. There were so many _kids_ in this place, and Barry was boiling in anger at the Rogues. This was too far. They were willing to kill a hospital full of people just for some diamonds.

              Barry calculated that Snart was pretty on point in terms of time—he only had about another forty-five seconds before the flames would get unbearable. Even now, he was cutting it close. The fire was growing quickly, and the smoke was slowing him down.

              When Barry was done with the third floor, he moved down to the second, which had several people hooked up to machines. Barry managed to clear a conference room in the office building next door, and he moved all the machines he could into that room, hooking up the patients as he went.

              The smoke felt like it was heavy in his lungs. He tried not to cough as he ran back into the burning building. He cleared the first floor, the flames making his eyes water and his throat burn.

              Barry scanned the area. All the patients and the hospital employees were gathered in the street out front, looking bewildered. He did one last round of the hospital to make sure he got everyone. He ran back out to the street.

              “Is everyone okay?” he called to the crowd, vibrating his vocal chords.

              “M-my doll is in there,” a little girl said softly, sniffling. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.

              “Okay, hang on,” Barry said gently. He was just glad he remembered which room she’d been in. He ran back in, the heat making him light-headed. He had to dodge some sparks and debris, but he got to the little girl’s room, grabbing the doll off her bed.

              He ran back out, kneeling in front of her to hand her the doll.

              She grabbed it, clutching it to her chest and sobbing to herself.

              Barry felt a little better until he looked back at the hospital. He had to get the fire out before it got any worse. He didn’t want the building to collapse.

              He ran to the waterline. He tried to think fast, figure out a way to pull the water to the building while avoiding any civilians. He took a deep breath. _Here goes._

              Barry ran in a tight circle on the surface of the water, pulling a wave up into the vacuum he created. He then sped towards the hospital, pulling the water along with him. He weaved through the hospital, dousing the fire as he went. The hospital was burnt, and soaked, but the building was salvageable. Not everything had been destroyed.

              Barry sped away, ducking down an alley. He stopped, leaning against a brick wall and panting.

              _“You know, you could’ve tried creating a vacuum around the fire,”_ Cisco’s voice said through the comm. _“Sucked away all the oxygen. Might’ve worked.”_

              “I’ll try that next time,” Barry said, still out of breath. “Heatwave and Peek-A-Boo?”

              _“They’re gone,_ ” Cisco replied grimly. _“Cold and Pied Piper, too.”_

              “Great,” Barry sighed. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

              _“Hey, it’s not all bad news,”_ Cisco said. _“No casualties. You saved everyone.”_

              “But until we catch the Rogues, everyone in the city is still in danger,” Barry replied.

              _“Way to look on the bright side, man.”_

              Barry didn’t say anything. As much as he wanted to be happy about all the lives he saved, it was hard when he knew that the Rogues were all still out there.

              This was going to be harder than Barry had realized. He hadn’t really thought about how different it was going to be without the team back in Starling. If he’d had other people out in the field with him, he could’ve saved the people in the hospital, knowing someone else was going after the Rogues.

              The responsibility weighed on his shoulders.

\---

              “So you’re from Starling, right?” Tanya said when there was a lull in the day.

              “Yes,” Oliver confirmed.

              “How was it, living there?” she asked. “Seems to be quite the vigilante problem up there.”

              Oliver hesitated. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to respond to that.

              “I’m sorry, vigilante _problem?”_ Jack interjected as he walked back over to the register after bringing coffee to a customer. “How is having a group of heroes keeping the city safe a problem?”

              Tanya rolled her eyes. “It’s _illegal._ And dangerous. That’s what the police are for.”

              Jack snorted. “Yeah, maybe if the police would actually do their jobs—”

              “That’s not fair,” Tanya replied quickly.

              “I’m just saying,” Jack continued. “That maybe _we_ wouldn’t have such a problem with criminals in this city if we have a team of vigilantes picking up the slack.” He turned to Oliver. “Come on, back me up.”

              Oliver didn’t really want to respond. He didn’t feel like he should be a part of this particular debate. He didn’t even really think he should be hearing it. “Uh, I don’t know…” he said slowly. “Maybe… maybe if the police were more willing to work with the vigilantes…”

              “That’s what I’m saying!” Jack replied, getting more animated in his hand gestures. “Why would they waste their time going after the people who are just trying to help?”

              Tanya crossed her arms over her chest. “Because vigilantism is dangerous to both the vigilante and the civilian. They’re taking the law into their own hands. They don’t have the same rules and regulations as the cops. I mean, not only have they injured and _killed_ the criminals, they’ve also jeopardized investigations. Have you heard about the people who have gotten acquitted on technicalities because they were caught by vigilantes?”

              “That seems more like an issue with the law,” Jack replied. “Not the vigilantes.”

              Tanya sighed and shook her head. “You’re impossible. You just think it’s cool because you’ve read too many comics.”

              Jack grinned. “Okay, I’m not going to say I _don’t_ think it’s cool. It’s _so_ cool.” He turned back to Oliver again. “Did you hear that the Flash has been sighted around town again? Like, just today.”

              Oliver chuckled. “Uh, yeah, I think I heard about that.”

              “I wonder if he’s staying this time,” Jack went on. “I mean, it’s only fair that Starling share their collection a little.” He grinned. “Although, to be honest, I’d rather they send Black Canary. She’s so badass.”

              “Should’ve known this was just about your crush,” Tanya said. She glanced over towards the door. “Oliver, can you ring this guy up?”

              Oliver nodded and walked over to the register, plastering on a friendly smile.

              The man who had walked through the door was strolling over slowly. He had salt-and-pepper hair, with icy blue eyes. There was something knowing, something cold, in his insincere smile.

              Oliver’s smile faltered a little as the man walked up. There was something off about him. “Welcome to Jitters,” Oliver managed. “What can I get for you?”

              The man’s sharp gaze flicked down to Oliver’s nametag. “Well, Oliver, I’d like an iced black coffee,” he said, his voice a rough drawl. “If you don’t mind.”

              “Of course,” Oliver said, ringing the man up.

              As Oliver got the man his drink, he couldn’t help the twinge of discomfort on the back of his neck. He tried telling himself that there was nothing wrong, that this was just another one of his paranoias, but something about this felt different. There was something deeply unsettling about this man, something that Oliver couldn’t quite put a finger on.

              He handed the man his drink with a smile, hoping he didn’t look as stressed and suspicious as he felt.

              The man gave a small smirk. “Be seeing you,” he said smoothly, and he turned around and left.

              _I hope not,_ Oliver thought to himself. He tried to shake off the discomfort.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm never sure how to do plot. Plot? What's plot? Never heard of it, I'm too busy typing out some internal monologues and conversations between characters. What do you mean things need to "happen" in stories?  
> Anyway, school is getting busy. You know what that means.

              The problem, ultimately, was how much Oliver hated feeling useless.

              He’d gotten home from Jitters, after a draining day of pouring coffee to people who were either rude or altogether too friendly, and he felt empty. Pointless. Weak. He’d gotten a text from Barry earlier in the day—

              _Sorry, I’ll be late tonight. S.T.A.R. Labs stuff. I’ll bring home take-out. Love you._

              Oliver knew that Barry withheld the details of the emergency for a reason. Obviously, it was meta-human criminal business. The Flash was needed. Barry had to go save people, catch the Rogues. The vigilante superhero life.

              Oliver didn’t miss being the Arrow. Not exactly, anyway. It wasn’t quite that simple.

              He didn’t want to go back. Certainly not now, maybe not ever. Hanging up the hood and the mask had felt kind of freeing. At the beginning, at least.

              But now…

              Oliver had spent so many years of his life feeling like he was truly accomplishing something. Like what he did mattered, in some fundamental life-or-death way. Sure, he’d often had doubts about whether the Arrow was truly making the city a better place, but he’d never felt like he had _no_ impact.

              He understood now why Barry had said that he wasn’t sure Oliver was cut out for customer service. It made him feel… Small. In a way, it was kind of nice. The simplicity of what he was doing. It wasn't an easy job, but no one was going to die if Oliver fucked up. The worst he could do is spill hot coffee on someone.

              The consequences of Oliver’s short-comings could only ever ruin someone’s morning. Not their entire life.

              But it also made him feel invisible. Unimportant. Like he was replaceable. As the Arrow, the weight of responsibility was always heavy on his shoulders. Like only _he_ could do it. Like he had to, or he would fail his city.

              It was a strange experience for Oliver. Feeling like what he was doing didn’t matter one way or the other. Not on a large, crucial scale. And he was both relieved and upset by the thought.

              There was never going to be a simple or easy way to leave the Arrow behind and enter a calm life that was just for him. No matter what Oliver did at this point, he felt like he was always going to be unhappy with his life.

              Maybe he wasn’t meant to be happy. Maybe this was what he got, in the end. After everything he’d done, everyone he’d been.

              Oliver didn’t know what he wanted anymore.

              So many options, no choices.

              He’d been a hero. He’d been a villain.

              Being a civilian, in a lot of ways, was the most difficult.

 ---

              Barry hovered outside the door for a moment, holding the take-out bags from Big Belly Burger. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. It shouldn’t be a big deal, right? It was going to be fine. Wasn’t it?

              It was just that this was the first real day. The first day that he was the Flash and Oliver wasn’t the Arrow. He didn’t know what it was going to be like. He’d been out saving people, running after bad guys.

              There was a time when Oliver would’ve chided him for going out alone.

              But those times were over, Barry realized. Their dynamic had changed. Their _lives_ had changed. Oliver wasn’t going to lecture Barry about being reckless, about running off without backup. Oliver wasn’t going to follow him into the fight.

              Something about it made Barry so desperately sad. He didn’t realize how much he’d miss the bickering, the small arguments that stemmed from them worrying about each other in the field. He’d become the Flash with Oliver’s help. Oliver had taught him a lot about being a hero. And now…

              That part of their lives was over.

              Barry didn’t know what would come next.

              They’d had a few months off, without being vigilantes at all. They’d lived in Starling City for a while, with Oliver focusing on recovery and Barry focusing on not getting fired from the SCPD.

              And now, this was uncharted territory.

              The version of Oliver that wasn’t the Arrow wasn’t really a version of Oliver that Barry knew. They’d met when the Arrow had already been around for over a year. Barry didn’t really know who Oliver was without the Arrow. The past few months had been unusual, a unique situation.

              But Oliver was able to leave the apartment now. He was able to have a job. His periods of confusion and panic were getting shorter and less frequent. It had been a couple weeks since he’d woken up thinking he was back with the League, or thinking that Barry wasn’t real. But Oliver wasn’t going back to being the Arrow.

              Not that Barry thought he should. Barry was relieved that Oliver didn’t want to go back to being the Arrow, especially not so soon after all the trauma. He just wasn’t sure how to act anymore.

              Like today, when he had to tell Oliver he’d be home late. Was he supposed to say any details as to why? Was he supposed to just assume Oliver would know? Would Oliver be upset about hearing about the Flash, or would he be insulted by Barry trying to protect him by avoiding talking about it?

              Barry just didn’t want to screw anything up. He wanted everything to be okay.

              He tentatively opened the door, slipping inside.

              Oliver was on the couch, reading.

              “I brought food,” Barry announced with a smile. He walked over and sat next to Oliver, putting the bags on the coffee table.

              “So how was it?” Oliver asked, putting his book down.

              “How was it?” Barry repeated.

              Oliver rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to play dumb, Bar. It’s okay. What was happening with the Rogues?”

              Barry smiled, a little nervously. “Just a jewelry store robbery. Nothing too major.”

              “Did you catch any of them?” Oliver asked. He picked up the take-out bag that Barry had put in front of him pulling out the burger.

              Barry hesitated. “Well, no. They, uh. Well, they set up a diversion.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Two of them… Two of them set a hospital on fire, so I had to… Well, I had to go get everyone out, and then I had to put out the fire… By the time I did that, they’d all gotten away.”

              Oliver paused, raising an eyebrow. “Nothing too major, huh?”

              “Okay, so maybe it was a _little_ major.”

              Oliver glanced at him. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

              Barry cringed, curling into himself a little. “I know. I’m sorry. I just… This is weird for me.”

              “I know. It’s weird for me, too.” Oliver leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “We’re going to have to learn how to manage it.”

              “I just don’t want to… I don’t want to, you know, make you feel like you should… I want to be careful.” Barry found it hard to put into words. He didn’t want it to sound like he thought he needed to protect Oliver. Even though that _was_ kind of how he felt.

              Oliver sighed. “Barry, I know that you want to help,” he said. He spoke slowly, like he was choosing his words very deliberately. “But the best thing you can do for me right now is act normal.”

              Barry pressed his lips together. “Ollie, I don’t even know what normal is.”

              The corner of Oliver’s mouth quirked up. “You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me, Barry.”

              “I know, it’s just… I worry about you.”

              “I wish you wouldn’t.”

              Barry shrugged, smiling. “I can’t help it. I love you.”

              Oliver glanced at him, furrowing his brow. “That doesn’t make you responsible for my mental health.”

              Barry looked at the ground. Oliver hadn’t said _I love you_ back to him since before. They hadn’t talked about it. Just like how they hadn’t talked about how Oliver still didn’t sleep in a bed. Or how Oliver hadn’t kissed him on the lips. 

              Barry knew that it wasn't about him. It wasn't personal, it wasn't something he'd done. It still stung a little. He was understanding, really, he was. He didn't want to push Oliver when he wasn't ready. But their relationship had already been so new, before all this. It was just hard. 

              And Barry knew that Oliver didn’t want him to act different. But how could he pretend like everything was fine when it so clearly wasn’t? How could he pretend like nothing had changed? There was something deeply different between them. It felt like there was this giant, insurmountable difference, and Barry didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

              He couldn’t fix this. He had to be patient. All Oliver wanted was to be treated like he wasn’t broken. Barry _knew_ all this.

              It just wasn’t going to be easy. It was _never_ going to be easy.

 ---

              Snart and Shawna teleported through Iron Heights, avoiding the cameras. When they got to their destination, Snart calculated that they had about a minute and a half to safely talk.

              It was deep in the prison, a cold, windowless area, long corridors connecting it to the rest of the building. They were in a large, square room, a thick glass wall separating them from who they came to speak to.

              Shawna glanced back, like she was worried the guards were on top of them.

              “Patience,” Snart hissed to her. “We won’t be long.”

              She just nodded. Snart didn’t mind her too much. Her powers were exceedingly useful, and all she had asked of them was that they help her boyfriend evade the police. Snart had ultimately convinced him that he’d be better off fleeing the city, and Shawna hadn’t been pleased. But Snart didn’t like to have his teammates distracted, and the fact that he alone knew where Shawna’s boyfriend was kept her in line.

              He strolled towards the glass. The prisoner in front of him looked through the window, a curious look in his eye. He didn’t seem surprised by the intruders.

              “I know you,” he said. An older man, with graying stubble and a mean, tired look in his eye. Snart could only see a hint of the once formidable criminal underneath.

              Snart’s mouth twitched up in a smirk. “Always nice to meet a fan.”

              “You’ve been teaming up with my copy-cat,” the man replied. “The kid who’s ruining my legacy.”

              Snart’s lip curled in distaste. He didn’t care for Axel Walker. He was the loose cannon of the team, even more so than Mick. Mick had a temper, but Snart knew perfectly well how to handle it. Axel was… unpredictable. It was only a matter of time before the kid made some impulsive mistake and ruined one of Snart’s plans.

              Snart preferred a team he could control. Shawna, Hartley… They were level-headed. They knew it was in their best interest to stick with Snart, to follow his orders. They were not looking for pure chaos.

              “Well, James, my hands are tied,” Snart said coolly. “As long as you’re in there, the new Trickster is the next best thing.”

              James Jesse snorted. “A counterfeit. A pale imitation. He has nothing on me.”

              Snart smiled. “I agree. What a shame you’re behind bars.” He let a mocking tone slip in, carefully letting his tone imply that it was a state he could remedy.

              James’ eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

              “It’s not a matter of what I want,” Snart replied. “It’s a matter of what you can do for your freedom.”

              James leaned forward, a spark of interest in his eyes. “There’s a lot I can do.”

              Snart studied James, satisfied. The first part of the plan was already complete. All he needed to do today was gauge James’ possible commitment, his desperation. Snart was pleased with the result. The rest would follow. 

              “Excellent,” he said. “You’ll be hearing from me.”

              James let out a half-crazed laugh. “That’s all? You’re not going to tell me?”

              Snart turned. Maintaining the upper-hand was key. “Shawna,” he prompted.

              She nodded, teleporting them back to the hallway and quickly jumping them back outside of the prison.

              “You’re not… You’re not really going to break him out, are you?” Shawna asked, glancing back at Iron Heights, her eyes nervous. “He doesn’t seem… reliable.” She said  _reliable_ like she'd had another word in mind. 

              Snart shot her a glare. “It’s my call to make,” he said coldly.

              “Sorry,” she replied softly.

              He looked back at the looming building. “In any case, I haven’t decided,” he said. “For now, we need him in _there_. That’s where he’ll be most useful.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, did you order some angst? Sorry, you're getting some regardless.   
> Anyway, let me know what you think! (Eventually, some plot will come back, I promise)

              “So you like, died, right?” Jack said suddenly.

              Oliver froze, his hand hovering over the espresso machine. “You could put it that way,” he said slowly, dread creeping into his chest.

              “You were gone, what, five years?” Jack went on, leaning against the counter.

              “Jack,” Holly chided.

              “Don’t pretend you’re not interested,” he replied, waving her off. “The guy disappeared for _years_. There’s gotta be a story there.”

              Oliver gritted his teeth. He continued making the latte, methodically, giving it his full attention. He opted to just pretend like he didn’t know what Jack was trying to make him say.

              Jack was undeterred. He nudged Oliver’s arm and it was all Oliver could do to keep from jerking away. “Come on, man. _Five_ years. Where were you?”

              Oliver swallowed a sigh. “I was on an island in the North China Sea. I’m sure you saw the reports.”

              “It’s just like a frickin’ movie,” Jack went on. “Stranded on an _island_.”

              “Yep."

              “What was it like? I mean, what did you do?”

              “You’ve seen the movies,” Oliver replied, keeping his voice flat.

              Jack let out a short laugh and turned to Holly. “This guy. So cryptic. I bet he just found some resort and chilled there until they found him.”

              Oliver took a deep, quiet breath, counting to three and steadying his hands. He turned to Jack and flashed one of his best college-Oliver grins. “You got me.” He shrugged, leaning against the back wall and cocking his head to the side. “The resort was pretty sweet. Hot tubs. Free strawberry daiquiris. Wish I could go back.”

              Jack froze, staring for a minute like he might actually believe that. He burst out laughing and clapped a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “Man, shut up.”

              Oliver laughed. “You asked, dude.” His resisted the urge to scratch at where Jack had touched him.

              “You’re such an ass, Jack,” Holly said with a relieved chuckle.

              Now if only Oliver could keep up the act forever. He tapped a finger against the counter, his jaw clenched.  _Just breathe._

\---

              _Oliver had a vague awareness that he was dreaming._

_He knew he was at Jitters, but it wasn't actually Jitters. It was his family’s mansion, the house he’d grown up in. The light streaming in through the windows was just a little too bright, the colors a little too vibrant. Like everything had been repainted to look cartoonish, almost like a carnival._

_The espresso bar was set up in the living room, where they’d never been allowed to actually live. It was one of those rooms in large houses that were reserved solely for when guests were over. Otherwise, they wouldn’t even glance at it. When they were kids, he and Thea had once made the mistake of running through that room and they knocked over not just one, but several very expensive vases. Their parents had been livid._

_Oliver had never seen the point of the room. He kind of hated it, with the immaculate, artificial atmosphere and stiff, uncomfortable couches that no one sat on. It was where they’d keep the Christmas tree with all the silver decorations, which had always been his least favorite. He’d liked the Christmas tree that was hidden in the corner of the kitchen, where the homemade ornaments went._

_But here he was. The couch was still there, with the coffee table and its three books that he was sure no one had ever read. The espresso bar was in the corner where the Christmas tree would’ve gone._

_He knew he was supposed to be doing something. Someone had ordered a drink. Who had ordered a drink? What was he supposed to make?_

_“Dude,” Jack hissed, materializing as though he’d been here this whole time. “I said make a cappuccino. Are you listening?”_

_“Yeah, sorry,” Oliver said, shaking his head a little to try and reorient himself. Of course, he had a job to do. He grabbed a mug and focused on the espresso machine. He vaguely wondered when the coffee shop had moved to Starling City._

_Were his parents here? He couldn’t remember. They must be, right? They were probably upstairs._

_He brought the cappuccino over to the counter for the customer._

_Ra’s smiled at him. “Thank you.”_

_Oliver froze. “What are you doing here?”_

_“I’m merely getting some coffee, Al Sah-him. Don’t cause a scene.”_

_Oliver glanced back at where Jack was taking another customer’s order. A line had begun to form._

_“You can’t be here,” Oliver said._

_“Oh, I think you know that isn’t true,” Ra’s replied. He glanced around the room. “Lovely home you’ve got here, Ollie.”_

_Oliver’s chest tightened. “Don’t call me that.”_

_“My apologies.” Ra’s ran a finger along the counter._

_“What are you doing here?” Oliver repeated._

_“As I told you. Merely getting coffee,” Ra’s replied, raising his mug. He paused a moment, his eyes dragging over Oliver. “Well. Be seeing you.”_

_He gave one more lingering smile before turning away._

Oliver woke suddenly, his pulse racing.

              He pushed himself up to a seated position on the couch, planting his feet firmly on the ground.

              It wasn’t real. It was just a dream.

              He took a few deep breaths.

              _I’m in Central City. I’m safe. Ra’s is dead. He isn’t coming back. He can’t hurt me._

              Though, strictly speaking, that wasn’t true. Obviously, Ra’s _could_ hurt him. The damage he’d done was deep. Even though Ra’s was dead, he was still hurting Oliver. Maybe he would always be able to hurt Oliver. 

              Oliver ran a hand over his hair. He felt beads of sweat on his forehead.

              The dream hadn’t even been scary, really. On the scale of distressing nightmares Oliver had, this one shouldn’t even make the list.

              But Oliver couldn’t soothe his pulse. Couldn’t make his hands stop shaking. Couldn’t stop the pick of tears in the corner of his eyes.

              The nightmares Oliver had were usually much more horrifying than this. Blood, pain, death, the warping of memories. Why was this dream, this strangely innocuous dream, getting under his skin?

              He took another deep breath, but it came out shaky as a few tears fell.

              Oliver’s hands curled into fists. He wanted desperately to hit something. If he got angry, maybe he wouldn’t be so scared. If he got angry, maybe he wouldn’t feel so lost.

              Oliver glanced towards the bedroom, hopelessness settling in his chest.

              He wanted Barry.

              A few more tears fell.

              He felt pathetic. What he really wanted, deep down, was to go crawl into bed with Barry. He wanted to have Barry hold him and tell him everything would be okay. He wanted to hear Barry say that he was safe, and loved, and that things would get better, that they were already getting better. He wanted Barry to smile, reassure him that he was there for Oliver, that he always would be. 

              Oliver felt small. And empty. And alone.

              He checked the time. 1:49 in the morning.

              He couldn’t go wake up Barry. He knew that Barry would say that it was okay, but it wouldn’t be, not really. He couldn’t put all this onto Barry.

And he couldn't let himself get desperate and needy and weak. If he did, he was sure he'd never make it back from that. 

              The moonlight cast long shadows across the floor. Tears dripped from Oliver’s cheeks onto the coffee table. He could handle this alone. He had to.

\---

              They were settling in. They had a couch. They had a toaster. Barry had insisted on getting a novelty waffle maker. Oliver had insisted on getting an extra lock on the door.

              But Oliver was still sleeping in the living room. Barry wanted to give him time, and space. But he couldn’t help but be concerned. He didn’t understand why sleeping in a bed and acting like a couple were such difficult things. He knew there was a lot he didn’t get about what Oliver was going through.

              It was hard not to feel like it was _him_ though.

              Barry tossed and turned in bed, the covers feeling like they were strangling him. He checked his phone for the time—2:27 in the morning.

              He let out a thin sigh. Had he gotten any sleep? It had been getting harder and harder. He groaned, shoving his face in the pillow. He was going to have to get up for work in just a few hours. He _needed_ to get some sleep. But he couldn’t just lie there. He was about ready to start tearing at the sheets.

              He pushed himself up, sliding out of bed. The air was startlingly cold compared to the unbearable heat of the comforter. There was no winning. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. How long was this going to go on? The anxiety was making it impossible to get a good night’s sleep.

              Here was the problem: Barry knew that Oliver was just yards away, on the couch in the living room. He knew that, logically.

              But the second he’d fall asleep, or start to, he’d snap awake, worrying that something had happened. That Oliver was gone again. That he wasn’t coming back this time.

              When they were stuck in the foundry after it first happened, Barry could wake up from these nightmares and worries and just turn over and see that Oliver was there, that he wasn’t okay but he was alive and he was _there._

              Here, Barry tossed and turned alone. And he couldn’t just get up every twenty minutes to make sure that Oliver was still in the apartment.

              _What if this was it, though? What if something had actually happened to Oliver? What if he’d freaked out and left? What if the League had come back? What if a thousand other things had gone wrong?_

              Not all of these anxieties nagging at Barry were unfounded. Oliver _had_ made enemies. He was never going to be fully safe. But here, in Central City, in their apartment with the locks and chains on the door, they were pretty close to being safe.

              Barry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He’d let himself indulge at first. He’d sneak out into the living room quietly, multiple times a night, just to soothe his nerves. But he couldn’t do that forever. He had to make himself break the habit.

              He glanced at the door. _I could make some tea, though. Just to calm the nerves so I can get to sleep. That’s completely reasonable. Checking on Oliver will just be a side effect. I can’t get to the kitchen without going through the living room._

              He crept out quietly, slowly. Moonlight shone in through the windows in the living room, casting long shadows.

              Barry froze mid-step, his heart hammering against his ribs. A crackle of lightning ran down his arm.

              Oliver wasn’t there.

              One of the many joys of being a speedster meant that the brief second after seeing the empty couch, Barry managed to run through several different horrifying scenarios in excruciating detail.

              Oliver, waking up confused and disoriented, running out into the streets of Central City. Lost. Shot by muggers. Hit by a car. Ra’s, alive and well, breaking in and abducting Oliver to force him back into conditioning. Oliver, waking up and changing his mind, running away and changing his name, never to be seen again. Oliver, waking up hopeless and lost and depressed and deciding he was done, he was just done with all of it.

              Every scene played out vividly in Barry’s mind, giving his anxiety plenty to work with. Oliver gone, hurt, dead. Barry’s heart was about to shatter just at the thought. After everything they’d been through.

              After a moment, he managed to find his voice again.

              “Ollie?” he whispered hesitantly.

              The light in the kitchen flicked on, and Oliver appeared in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame. Barry could’ve burst into tears from relief, but he managed to settle his emotions. Oliver didn’t need to see him break down.

              “Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Oliver whispered back.

              Barry raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you?”

              Oliver broke eye contact, looking towards the windows. “I, ah, woke up a little while ago. Couldn’t fall back asleep,” he said.

              “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep either,” Barry replied. He scratched the back of his neck. “I was, uh, I was gonna make some tea. See if that’d help. Want me to make you a cup?”

              Oliver’s hand tensed on the door frame. He smiled. “Sure. Sounds nice.”

              Barry couldn’t help but noticed how tight and clipped his voice was. He decided not to draw attention to it.

              He slipped past Oliver into the kitchen, careful not to touch him.

              “We don’t have a lot of decaf options, so um. Chamomile?”

              “Sure.”

              Barry felt strangely nervous. There was something tense and stilted about their interaction.

              “So,” he started, trying to keep his tone neutral. He didn’t look at Oliver at he put on the electric kettle and pulled mugs down from the cupboards. “Couldn’t sleep?”

              Oliver sighed. “It was a weird dream. It was nothing.”

              Barry glanced at him quickly and nodded. “Okay.”

              Oliver was fidgeting like he had something he wanted to say. Barry bit his tongue, hoping Oliver would get whatever was bothering him out. The silence just grew.

              Barry finished making the tea, smiling warmly as he handed a mug to Oliver.

              “Thanks,” Oliver said, his voice quiet.

              “Of course,” Barry replied. He tapped a finger against his own mug. “Coffee table?”

              Oliver just nodded.

              Barry studied Oliver’s face for a moment, wishing briefly that he had the power to read minds instead of run fast. He reached out a tentative hand, squeezing Oliver’s arm quickly before walking into the living room and settling onto the floor.

              They drank their tea in silence. Oliver kept staring out the window, looking almost ready to say something. But he stayed quiet. Barry tried not to stare, so he just ended up keeping his eyes on his mug.

              It was strange, being awake and together at this hour. Barry felt like it was a little dreamlike, like if he woke up from it, he wouldn’t be all that surprised. They’d turned the lights in the kitchen off, so they only had the moon.

              After a while, their mugs sat empty on the table. Oliver had moved from staring out the window to staring at the mugs. Barry waited, hoping Oliver would just say what was wrong.

              The sky was still dark outside. Barry wasn’t sure what time it was. He didn’t really want to check.

              Oliver sighed. “Well, it’s pretty late. We should probably try—”

              “Do you mind if I sleep out here?” Barry blurted out.

              There were a few beats of silence. “What?” Oliver said.

              “Just on the floor,” Barry replied quickly. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Just—just for tonight. Would you… Would you mind? I’d just, um… It would make me feel better. If I was next to you.”

              Oliver just stared at him.

              “It’s okay if… If you’d rather I not. I can go back to my—our room. I just, uh…” Barry let out a short, self-conscious laugh. “When I came out here, you weren’t on the couch, and I…” He trailed off, gluing his eyes to the floor in front of him.

              “Yeah,” Oliver said quietly. “Yeah, that would, um… That would be fine.”

              Barry glanced up, meeting Oliver’s eyes. He smiled. “Thanks.”

\---

              _Barry leaned against the wall, watching Oliver in the cell._

_Oliver was asleep on the cot, impossibly still. Only the slight rise of his chest assured Barry he wasn’t dead._

_Barry didn’t like seeing Oliver behind bars. He’d do damn near anything to get Oliver out of there, but he just didn’t know what he could do. He was there. He was being patient. He was trying. Really, really trying._

_He felt so helpless. So useless._

_He never should’ve let Oliver go to the League in the first place. He should’ve done everything in his power to stop him._

_Or he should’ve gone with him. Should’ve been right there beside him, facing the torture together._

_Barry shook his head. Neither one of those would’ve helped. He couldn’t have stopped Oliver from going without locking him up. And who would it have helped if they’d both been brainwashed?_

_He ran a restless hand through his hair. He tried, desperately, to track everything that had happened. Go through his mind and figure out the mistake, the awful, world-shattering mistake, that could have led to this result._

_Oliver wasn’t himself. That was the harsh truth. Oliver had been broken down and rebuilt. And Barry didn’t know how to fix it._

_He didn’t even really know if it could be fixed, but he couldn’t bring himself to consider that possibility. If the whole situation already hurt this much, the idea that Oliver could never be healed might just kill him._

_Oliver twitched in his sleep and Barry leaned forward._

_Oliver’s breathing got faster and his hands curled into fists. He started murmuring in his sleep, and Barry strained to try to hear._

_He couldn’t make out any words. It didn’t sound like English. But Barry’s heart started beating fast. Oliver sounded_ terrified.

              _Barry tried to swallow the lump growing in his throat. What was he supposed to do? Should he try to wake Oliver? He wasn’t sure that was a good idea. Oliver was still pretty confused—trying to wake him up might end badly for both of them. Maybe he should just wait it out._

_But listening to Oliver’s frightening muttering and quiet whines was more than Barry could handle. Tears pricked at his eyes. He couldn’t stay for this. Not right now. Every part of this hurt. Oliver barely recognized him—their entire relationship had been all but tortured out of him._

_Barry just couldn’t take much more of this._

_He sped out of the room, lightning crackling around him. He skidded to a stop right outside the door, sliding down the wall._

_He hugged his knees close to his chest. He hated himself a little bit, in that moment. After everything Oliver had been through, he couldn’t even stay with him? Shame settled in his chest. He couldn’t do anything right._

_Staying hurt. Leaving hurt. Talking to Oliver hurt. Not talking to him hurt._

_Would it ever get better?_

_Barry wanted to stay optimistic. He had to. But there, alone in the dark, he felt as hopeless as he had the day his dad was sentenced to life in prison. He felt like that little eleven-year-old kid, alone, helpless, experiencing true loss for the very first time._

_He choked back a sob. Oliver was in there, having some kind of nightmare about who knew what, and Barry couldn’t deal._

Pathetic.

_The word echoed in his mind. How could he claim to be a hero? He was a coward. He couldn’t face this._

_But what was he supposed to do?_


End file.
